Dead Before I Hit The Ground
by InjusticeLeague
Summary: Draco Malfoy is lonely, his life has been planned out for him, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. He must serve the Dark Lord, or die at his hands.
1. Prologue

Prologue-

I remember when I was younger, sitting on the drawing room floor for hours, staring at a large, woven tapestry. It showed our family tree, our history. I believe that many of the pureblood family's have the same one. There were many small holes burnt into it, those who had disgraced the name of pureblood.

I also recall once asking mother how many of those remaining names were in Slytherin, like her and father had been. Her reply only half startled me, "All of them. " I then turned back to the tapestry to see how many little holes there were in my direct blood-line, my grand- parents and great grand-parents. None. I traced my finger of my name, gleaming in gold thread.

I pictured my mother burning a hole strait through it with her wand, a sad smirk on her face, my father mumbling "Disgraceful." under his breath in the background.

I was only 8 at the time, yet that day I made up my mind to be the perfect little pure-blood boy. To do whatever my father told me to. I would be exactly what they wanted. They had always bought me fancy gifts and brought me to parties, yet I was on a short leash. If there was one thing my parents were truly unable to give me, it was love.

For they had told me they were proud when I beat someone, but never when I drew a nice picture. They never showed me off because they loved me; they just showed me off because I was a pure-blood. If anything, I was quite afraid of my father. When I was 10, he started to hit me whenever I slipped up. He would make me practice flying for hours, though I truly never was very good.

I had always known my parents were in the inner circle with the Dark Lord, but I had never known they planned for me to be the same. On my eleventh birthday, 2 days before my departure to Hogwarts, my parents threw a little party. They invited many Death- Eaters, those who believed the Dark Lord would one day return to power. They told me that when he did, I was to become a Death Eater too. They also told me that if he ever died, I was to carry out his mission as his heir.

That night, I cried. I didn't want to be bad; I didn't want to have my entire future mapped out for me, when I hadn't even started school yet. But, I knew that I could not refuse my parents, or the Dark Lord. Or they would kill me without a second thought. I now knew why I was born I was born a slave, a slave to evil.

For my entire life, all I have known is being above and better than everyone. But, at home, the tables are turned. To my parents, I am a disposable pawn in Voldemort's game. I am lower than dirt, I am dirt.

My life has already been planned, I have no power of decision. I'm scared. I'm just a scared, worthless child. Just a child, who was Dead Before I Hit The Ground.


	2. Chapter 1The Book

Chapter 1-

I stepped nervously onto platform, my hands shaking. I hadn't slept last night, I was too scared. What if I got sorted into Hufflepuff of Gryffindor? The image that long haunted my dreams seeped back into my thoughts, my mother burning away my name.

My parents introduced me to some boys by the name of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle; they were both rather dull with heavy builds and a small vocabulary. I could tell my father wanted them to be my sidekicks, just as Mr. Crabbe and were to him. I played along, anything to please father.

On the train were grabbed a compartment, they sat facing me as if I was supposed to address them, it was unnerving. After a while, they fell left, complaining that they had to hunt down the food cart because it hadn't come yet. In their absence I fished a small black-leather bound book from my trunk. It was nothing special, actually rather shabby. I was a book of Sins.

I had found it on august the first, my trip to Diagon Alley. I had a meeting with a boy in Madame Malkins, hoping to meet a friend, for he too was travelling to Hogwarts. Though, that didn't seem to go well, he didn't seem to like me much. After that I was feeling dreary, so I headed over to Flourish and Blotts to meet up with mother, who was buying my school books. Upon entering I noted, as usual, mother had forgotten me, she most likely met up with another socialite and ran off. I sighed, deciding to search for any interesting books. The small volume had caught my eye in a journal section. The shop keep told me one was to write their sins and misdeeds in the book, as to rid one's conscience of guilt. If there was one thing I most diffidently had, it was loads of guilt. I bought it with my small pocket money.

Some may wonder why a young lad would feel a large and burdening amount of guilt, but the answer was simple; father was becoming more demanding. I took out my quill and a fresh bottle of ink and opened up the first page. On it I wrote, my hand aquiver, "_I will one day be a Death Eater_." I had to admit it to someone, or rather, something. A silent tear suddenly trickled down my cheek, up until that point I hadn't realized I had been crying. I was scared; I would admit it, although not to another person. I was already forced into being a treacherous child, mostly by my fear of my father's disapproval, and the fear of the punishment that too often accompanied it.

I was all of a sudden roused from my thoughts by the loud, dull voiced of Crabbe and Goyle, returning to the compartment. I quickly stuffed away the journal and quill, wiped away my tears and tried to look natural. The others didn't seem to notice my appearance. After several hours of biting my lip in worry, we were about a quarter of an hour away. We changed into our robes and the other two spoke eagerly of the sorting. I thought I might as well curl up in a ball and die, finally Crabbe seemed to notice this, "Hey man are you alright? You look a little pale."

"No, No, just fine…." I stuttered weakly.

The train pulled onto the platform. I gulped down the vomit threatening to come. In just a moment's time, an old hat would decide if I would live to see age twelve. And with that, we set out in the little boats, toward either my triumph or my doom


	3. Chapter 2The Sorting

Chapter 2-

"Malfoy, Draco" stated professor McGonagall, I gulped. I tried to put on that same pompous smile that my father used when meeting important wizards, though mine was a shadow of his confidence, I hoped it hid the fear I felt. I had asked my father how they sorted the first years, he had told me an old hat would read my true soul, and from there would place me with my true kind. At the moment it felt like my soul was about to vomit.

I stepped up to the little stool, and she placed an old very tattered pointed hat upon my head. I prayed with my whole heart that I would be sorted into Slytherin. I didn't want the hat to take too long, or my father would hear of it from my godfather, Severus Snape, who happened to be a professor at Hogwarts. "Slytherin." Cried the hat , with much applause from the Slytherin table.

I was overcome with joy, I had done it. My parents wouldn't hate me, father wouldn't hate me. I had a glance around the table, not many friendly faces here. Although, they all seemed to carry an heir of importance and strength.

After an exquisite feast, we headed off to the common room. I was expecting a comfy and warm spot for relaxation and friends. I was unpleasantly surprised, there were chairs carved from stone and a fire that held no warmth, instead it gave off an eerie glow, adding to the green hangings and roughness of the dungeon room. It looked like a place for plotting and scheming. I doubted that I would ever feel at home, more like in prison.

Professor Snape gave a little introduction, chatting about the founder of the noblest Slytherin house and the qualities in which we must all have had to have been sorted here.

I don't know why, but by then I had lost much of my feeling of relief and security. I was sure Snape would be writing to father every other day, it was like living with a spy. What if I slipped up? What if I failed an exam? He would know. And I would be punished without a second thought. Indeed, this worried me.

That night, I went to bed uneasy. Sure, I was at Hogwarts, what most young wizards and witches wished for years. But now I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach that the worst was yet to come.

I pulled together the curtains around my four-poster bed and pulled out the familiar book from where I had hidden it in my pillow-case. I took a self-inking quill out of my pajama pocket and wrote "_I am a Syltherin, and Slytherins are B_AD." I don't know why I thought they were bad, it was just that unfriendly aura they gave off. And with that, I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

My worries followed me… always; they constantly reminded me of an invisible burden. But maybe, one day, that burden would be lifted. But, for now, that very ideal reality was just that, the ideal dream. Dreams, disappointments more like it. Over the years I have come to realize that all dreams are bad. From my nightmares I wake feeling scared and lonely, and from the good dreams I wake with a feeling of emptiness, a void that can only be filled by ideal fantasies. So, as I went to sleep on that, my first night at Hogwarts, I knew that when I awoke, I would feel horrible. A nice thought to go to sleep by…


	4. Chapter 3First ClassesSecond Glances

Chapter 3-

That morning of my first day at Hogwarts, I awoke with an almost pleasant surprise. If I'd had a dream, I couldn't remember it, this was a seldom occasion that I celebrated cheerfully in my mind. Most of the time, my dreams were clouded with misty thoughts of future events, not that I was a seer. But these were rather, my own uncontrollable predictions. Most of them involved my own death.

A few years, when my disturbing pattern of dreams began, I would wake up at night petrified and scared. Though, over time I'd gotten used to these imaginings. Although, one cannot completely be oblivious to such horrible thoughts, it was with more of a numb ignorance that I avoided thinking about such things.

I changed hurriedly into my new school uniform; I put on the silver and green silk tie last. This tie, this house in fact, gave me very mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was happy that I had made it into my father's old house, and he would therefore be pleased, but on the other hand I didn't believe the sorting hat. I had shouted the line "Or perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends" I really doubted that any of these people would be friends. Of course there was that girl Pansy, who'd fancied me by the look on her face, but I didn't really think she'd make a very good friend at all.

As I arrived in the great hall for breakfast, I caught a glimpse of that Harry Potter laughing with the Weasley boy. If only I'd known that it had been Harry Potter in Madam Malkin's that day. I would have shaken his hand and told him we could be the best of friends. Of course, father would like it if I could befriend him and get him on our side. Although, he might have just killed him.

But the real reason I wanted Potter to be my friend was because I was lonely. Honestly, it would be hard to have a civilized conversation with any of these buffoons. And Potter looked like he was having a good time, laughing with the Gryffindors. I wish I could laugh early in the morning. I wished I could have a real friend, someone who would listen. Someone that could stand beside me, and stand up to father. But yet again, this was just another way to get Potter and I both killed.

I sat down at the long Slytherin table, grabbing a piece of toast off a large silver platter. I was only three bites in when the post arrived. My eagle owl came and dropped off a large, brown package. I gave him a bite of toast, and he left, back to the owlry to be with his friends. I hopped he was having a nicer time her than I was.

Inside the parcel was a letter, telling me congratulations for being in Slytherin, there was also a box of sweets that were devoured by Goyle before I tried one. I starred at the note once more, I didn't feel like being in Slytherin was something to be very proud of at all. I didn't finish the toast; I left it on my plate.

The first class I ever had at Hogwarts was charms. Father always told me charms was a weak class, that they taught soft-muggleborn spells like Wingardium Leviosa. Maybe it was because I was raised by the man, but I truly agreed. I already knew every spell they were going to teach us until third year, but they insisted I took the class anyways. So, on my first day at Hogwarts, I took a seat in the back of the room.

Crabbe and Goyle sat together at one of the many tables in the room. I slumped down into an empty seat at the far left of a table in the corner, not expecting anyone to sit with me. But of course, the class had just enough tables for every student, so a small Ravenclaw boy sat next to me. He turned and introduced himself enthusiastically; I forgot his name after he said it. He told me he was a muggle-born and jabbered about how exciting it was to be here at Hogwarts. I wasn't sure if I felt the same way, but I was very jealous of him, talking freely and laughing. I didn't laugh very often.

I was relieved when the professor started class, although the entire hour was spent reading the first chapter of our textbooks, the theory of charms was not exactly the most exiting volume I had read, but I continued to scan the page anyways. When I opened my leather-bound text all I saw were crisp pages of white paper and clear script. When the Ravenclaw opened his book, a puff of smoky dust arose in a cloud from the yellow pages of his text. He coughed at the dust, then smiled cheerily at me and laughed. He thought it was funny. Father would have had a lot to say about that.

When class finished the boy waved enthusiastically and shouted, "Bye, Draco! See you tomorrow." I couldn't remember telling the boy my name. I wasn't even sure if I had spoken at all besides a muttered hello when he sat down. But, I did want to see the boy again. Maybe he could be my friend, but once again I knew father would never allow such a child in my life. It wasn't really my life actually; I often found myself thinking of what father would say as the difference between right and wrong, never what would make me happy. I can hardly fathom anyone envying this.

**-Sorry for the short chapter, I'm sick today and decided to update. The next chapter will be about the chapter in Philosopher's Stone known as "The Midnight Duel". I'm going to try and update this story every two weeks as a kind of late New Year's resolution.**

**On a side note, has anyone noticed this story is written quite specifically in the past-tense? There is a reason for that, which shall be revealed at the very end. Please Review, thanks!! **


	5. Chapter 4Favoritism and Flight

Chapter-4

It had only been a few days since I had first arrived at Hogwarts, but already I had fallen into a lazy routine. Every day I woke up, ate barely anything at breakfast, and then hurried off to get my books for the first lesson. Every lesson was the same, boring and suffocatingly simple for someone who had grown up in magic. Yet, Potter seemed to be struggling with his schoolwork, and constantly whispering to his mudblood friend, asking how to perform simple charms.

The only real reprieve I had from this dull repetitiveness was potions; there were two reasons for this. The first was because father never let me near potions at home, he told me Severus was the potions master and I shouldn't develop any bad habits from brewing potions at home, and was to learn the proper way when I arrived at Hogwarts. So, this was all new material for me, though it still wasn't very challenging if you correctly followed instructions. But being an apparent natural at potions had its dis-advantage, Crabbe and Goyle were always leaning over to me, asking if I could repeat the last instruction professor Snape had made or even asking if I could make their potions for them, theirs were quite dreadful I'd admit. The other reason potions class was a reprieve was Severus himself. He was the only teacher that wasn't absolutely fawning over Harry Potter's presence. They were all giving him special treatment and even going as far as to award Gryffindor outrageous amounts of house points for the simplest of questions. They all seem to think of Slytherins as little dirt bags, Gryffindors as the hero's of all heros, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as some sort of spectators. But Snape, he was no-nonsense, he would shout at Potter like the rest of us when he got an answer wrong or handed in a dismal, half-completed potion. He congratulated me over my solution for boils. After this, I heard Potter and friends jabbering in the background about how much Snape favored the Slytherins, as if they were entirely oblivious to the fact that everyone favors them. And he didn't favor us at all really; he congratulated us on our achievements that we rightfully deserved after such hard work. The Gryffindors just spent their time mocking Snape's nose, and in result handed in awful, sloppy potions.

After lessons I would hear them in the hall, they complained loudly about all the school-work they were getting as if we hadn't all just been assigned the same essay. I wanted to shout at them. I wanted to scream out that it wasn't fair that they could say such retched things about us while they were being handled with softness. The rest of us were just tumbling around in a packing crate trying to survive the next class without getting an un-deserved detention. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that I had to sit on the sidelines and watch Harry Potter have all the fun. It wasn't fair that he could complain about everything, and that he was the big hero. It wasn't fair that I wasn't him. I wanted everything he took for granted. I wanted to hit him and scream at him that I should be his friend. I wanted to punch him and curse him and tell him to look around and see all the people who loved him. I wanted to hold his hand while we walked to lunch and sneered at Snape. I wanted all the things I could never have.

These thought ran through my mind as I headed towards the field outside the school. The rolling hills were perfect and lovely; the blades of grass blew in the breeze, making ripples of green. The sun beat down, yet it was just warm enough for you to undo the first few buttons on your shirt and sigh as the wind blew your hair from your eyes. When I took a good look around the scene soothed my temper, and I was able to put on an almost-smile. There was something about nature that could make the bad things float to the very back of your mind, while the way the sun reflected of the inky-blue lake was all you could concentrate on. The other thing that made me glad, the Gryffindors hadn't arrived yet. We could pick out the best of the sad school brooms before they could come and claim them for justice or whatever it was they thought made them so grand. I picked out an old one at the far end, it only had a few twigs missing and a few ruff scuffs around its matte handle.

I closed my eyes and tried to think some peaceful thoughts before facing my arch nemesis. I almost laughed, I wasn't sure if my arch nemesis was the broom or Harry, maybe it was both. I'd never been very good at flying and I most definitely did not want to make a fool of myself on a broom in front of my Potter. He was my rival in pretty much every way after all. All I could hope for was that he was awful at flying; this was actually pretty likely though, considering he had never flown on a broom before. I thought about how good it would feel to be better than Harry Potter, to watch him clumsily rise, then fall off his broom as I hovered lazily in mid-air. This was unlikely too though, since I had been the one falling clumsily when I had last tried to do this at home.

At this point I heard muffled footsteps in the grassy hills, I opened one eye and sure enough, a troop of Gryffindors were headed towards us. They chatted animatedly a made happy hand gestures. A lot of them seemed to be pretending to fly aboard an imaginary broom, probably telling heroic and fictional stories about previous broom rides. When they got close enough though, they turned to face the Slytherins, all groaning simultaneously as they chose their brooms, all the while sneering at the Slytherins like we were some common rats. To them, that's all we were.

Our haughty professor stepped before us, instructing the class to raise their hands over their broom sand shout "up". She counted to three and there was a great cry from the class as we summoned the brooms to our hands. Mine soared perfectly into my hand; I had made a good choice. Almost every other broom just stayed on the ground, a few rolled over dismally. Delighted, I looked up to check if Potter's had stayed on the ground, but ended up frowning when I saw that he too was smiling as he held a broomstick in his hand. I wished I could disappear.

Soon after the rest of the class had either managed to summon their brooms, or had blushed scarlet after picking them on the ground, we were finally ready to start out lesson. Madame Hooch told us told us to show us our grip, so I held onto the broomstick just like father had shown me at home outside the manor. She walked around and commented on everyone's grippes, though she unfortunately told Potter his was absolutely perfect, and he must be a natural at flying, we hadn't even gotten off the ground and there was already someone sucking up to him. When she came to me I expected at best for her to rave over mine like she had Potter's or at worst to tell me to loosen my fingers. When she really did get to me she asked what I thought I was doing. I nervously told me I doing it how I had always done it. She actually bent down and physically adjusted my fingers into an entirely different position while speaking much too loudly about how I'd been doing it wrong for years. My face turned bright pink as I heard Potter and friends laughing loudly in the other corner. Once again I wished I could disappear.

**Tune in next time for the exiting conclusion to flying lessons, and even Harry and Draco's attempted duel. **


End file.
